


let me hold your hand for the rest of my life

by coykoi



Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [5]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Otters, bartending, hand holding, wait they were roommates?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24919351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coykoi/pseuds/coykoi
Summary: "They hold hands to keep from floating away,” Peter whispers, gaze falling to their own interlocked fingers.Michelle forces herself to nod again. “Otters are smart like that…”Peter smiles softly. “They’re my new favorite animal.”“Yeah?”“Yeah. I like the way they think."
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797901
Comments: 47
Kudos: 173
Collections: Spideychelle Week 2020





	let me hold your hand for the rest of my life

**Author's Note:**

> otters are my favorite

“Hey, lady, you want to get me another beer or what? I ain’t tipping you for nothing.” The man slams his empty bottle on the counter, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Michelle stares blankly at the customer, who isn’t even tipping _well_ , before breathing sharply out of her nose. Her smile is rigid and tense, much like her posture as she’s been bent over all evening, cleaning the tables. 

“I’ll get that right now, sir,” she says monotonously, grabbing a new bottle of beer and cracking it open. “Drink up. It’s all going on your tab.”

“Hey, is there a complaint box ‘round here? Because the customer service is shitty as hell,” he slurs, taking a long swig of the beer she served within seconds.

“As a matter of fact,” Michelle drawls, resting her elbows on the counter. “Yeah, there is. It’s back in the corner. You see it? Kind of looks like a trash can, but I can assure you it’s not. We care very much about our customers’ opinions.”

The man merely grumbles, mutters something akin to the word ‘bitch’ under his breath, and she has to snort.

It’s been a long day.

“MJ. MJ, MJ, come over here. Fill this up for me, will you? Top it off with an olive for all I care,” Harry groans, massaging his temple while sliding an empty shot glass in her direction. “I can hold my alcohol, don’t worry.”

“Harry, that's melon-flavored liqueur. It’s four-proof. Safe to drink while you’re pregnant.” She takes the shot glass and starts topping it off. “I hope you realize that you can’t drink Liz’s engagement away. It’s going to end in travesty, and I’m not responsible for cleaning up your puke.”

“Yeah, that’s my job on the weekends,” Peter comments under his breath, eyes focused on the drink in front of him. “For some odd reason. So, don’t you dare make me clean up your olives.”

Harry buries his head in his arms, making a noise that sounds distinctly like a sob. “You’ll clean up my olives if I want you to clean up my olives, Parker.”

“By the way,” Michelle speaks up. “You guys have a tab, too. These drinks? They’re not on the house. In fact, there is no house. No free drinks for _anyone_.”

Ned’s head shoots up, taking him right out of that nap. “What? Since when?”

“Since always.”

Peter frowns. “No roommate discount for me?”

“My boss would accuse you guys of taking advantage of our friendship status, and we can’t have that,” she deadpans. “I need a raise. That money is coming from you.”

“Take my money, Michelle,” Harry chokes out, still wallowing in his personal bubble of despair. “I don’t need it for happiness. I need it for vodka.” He takes one of the bottles from the counter and starts chugging.

Michelle sighs, throwing the towel over her shoulder. She looks at Peter, who’s staring at her. Squinting, really. “Should I cut him off now, sooner, or later?”

He blinks. “What?”

“No one listens to me when I talk, do they?”

“I listen,” Peter immediately claims, giving her a smile that’s crooked on one side. “Tell me everything, and I’ll give you a five star rating on my blog.”

“You don’t have a blog.”

“I’ll make a blog just for you.”

Michelle scratches the back of her ear, glad that it’s dimly lit in the bar for once, vitamin D be damned. “Flattery isn’t getting you a free drink. The bill is going to be the length of from here to the door by the time Harry’s done.”

Peter juts out his bottom lip. “Harry said he’d treat us. We’re his dates.”

“You think he’s going to be conscious by the time my shift ends?”

“Fine.” He fishes out his wallet. “I’ll pay, _and_ I’ll tip. How much?”

Michelle raises an eyebrow. “How much do you think my service is worth?”

“Well, anyone can pour a drink,” Peter begins to say, and she feels like whipping him in the face with her towel. “But no one can do it as good as you.”

“Aw. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“That _was_ a compliment.”

Michelle smiles, feeling something flutter in her stomach. “I appreciate that, and I’ll appreciate your 25% tip even more.”

Peter’s cheeks are pink under the dim light, and he opens his mouth again, but she quickly turns around, back to the pile of glasses that need to be taken away. The words that Liz said to her the other day are running like a reel in her mind.

_“You really like him, don't you?”_

And, shit.

Maybe she does.  
  


* * *

  
Peter’s gaze follows their friends as they stumble out of the bar, Harry leaning most of his weight against Ned. “You think Ned’s going to be able to get him home okay?”

“If not, Harry will just sleep in his car,” Michelle says, zipping her jacket up to her chin because winters are hell in New York. “We should go. There’s a midnight special on BBC tonight that I want to see. Documentary style, sea otter edition.”

“I knew you had a soft spot somewhere,” Peter coos, smirking just a bit, and she rolls her eyes, elbowing him. “Let’s be real, MJ. You’ve already watched this documentary, and you’re rewatching it again for the feels.”

Michelle smiles to herself. “You can never get enough of animals that are more intelligent than half the human population, Parker.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” he agrees as they walk out of the bar and start heading down the street, towards their apartment. It isn’t too far away, which is good for her commute since they don’t own a car. “Hey, MJ?”

She blows out a breath of foggy air, wondering if it’s cold enough for her eyes to freeze open. “What?”

“Do you want my scarf? You’re wearing a puffer, and you’re still shivering,” Peter points out, even though the fact of the matter is, that’s her scarf. She bought it from a thrift store, and it disappeared from her closet one day.

“It’s not my fault my mother gave birth to a cold-blooded kid,” she says, shoving her hands in her pockets in hopes of some extra warmth. “But if you’re offering me my scarf back, I won’t decline.”

Peter hums, taking it from his neck and draping it around hers. It’s not so much the scarf as it is the action that makes her feel warmer. “Better?”

Michelle stifles a smile, head ducked. “Thanks. Remind me to never let you borrow it again.”

“It was yours?”

“Yes, you literally took it out of my closet,” she deadpans, cupping her hands in front of her mouth to try warming them up. “Kleptomaniac.”

“Hey, at least I gave it back,” he defends with a grin. 

“True. I guess you’re better than an ex-boyfriend that I had who stole my shoes. My laptop. My wallet. Oh, and my sketchbook. Like, what the fuck kind of money do you think you’re going to make with that?”

Peter nods thoughtfully. “Your sketches are really good, though.”

“They weren’t back then,” Michelle mumbles, glad that he can’t see her face behind her hair. “But thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Peter says, nudging her hand with his. “Holy shit, MJ. Your fingers are going to break off. They feel like ice.”

“I told you that I don’t generate heat.”

He chews the inside of his cheek before folding their hands together, pulling hers into his woolen coat pocket. Peter, an intelligent being, had bought an overcoat that’s lined with the softest material ever, so he never gets cold.

Plus, there’s that thing where he’s sort of superhuman, but that’s besides the point.

Because now Michelle’s here, blushing and feeling incredibly stupid for doing so. He’s just being nice like always, she thinks. He’d do it for anyone.

Except maybe Harry.

Once they make it back to their apartment, Peter calls dibs on the shower, which is fine because that means she can just brew some tea to warm her up. 

Michelle settles down on the couch, having changed into pajamas that may or may not be hers.

Their laundry isn’t distinguishable anymore, but she’s not mad.

“MJ!”

She tilts her head back, calling to the ceiling. “What?!”

Peter sounds panicked, a tone she’s become quite familiar with by living with him for so long. “There’s a slight issue that I’m having! Can you come here?”

Michelle frowns, giving a mournful look at the documentary that’s queuing up on the TV, before trudging towards the bathroom. Much to her dismay, there’s water leaking out from underneath the door, and she nearly slips.

“What did you _do_?”

“I think I broke something!”

Michelle forces the door open, which may have been a bad idea on her part. She immediately squeezes her eyes closed upon hearing his shriek, her own face heating up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were already naked!”

“Well, I was going to take a shower—of course I’d be naked,” he retorts petulantly. A moment of silence passes. “You can open your eyes again.”

Peter’s now wearing a soaking wet t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that pool at his ankles. Behind him, there’s a broken faucet spraying cold water out of their bathtub, which is rather concerning.

“Okay, I’m going to ask this again slowly. _What_ did you do?”

“The, uh...the knob got stuck to my...hand. It was an accident.” He seems relatively embarrassed about it, cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry.”

“You know what, it’s fine. Nothing a plumber can’t fix. I’ll call tomorrow,” Michelle says, smoothing her hair, nerves acting up. “But in the meantime...what are you going to do about this?”

“Should I...web it?”

“You think that’s going to solve the problem?” Her tone is skeptical.

Peter shrugs, rocking on his heels. “Temporarily? I mean, if our bathroom blows up, you can blame me one-hundred percent, but on the other hand...if I don’t do anything, we’ll be living in sogginess.”

“You’re right. I will blame you if something blows up. You—fix this, and I’m going to go watch my documentary. Do _not_ ruin the sink too.”  
  


* * *

  
_“The ice fall creates a rolling wave up to ten meters high—”_

“Oh, my god, they’re so cute.”

Michelle pauses the documentary and twists her head to look at Peter, who’s still wet and dripping on the hardwood. He’s drying his hair with a towel at the very least. 

“You want to watch with me, find out why otters are a superior species to human beings?”

“Can I?” Peter’s eyes light up, and he smiles, making a move towards the couch—but more importantly—towards her very comfortable set-up where everything is completely dry. She must make a face because he stops. “What?”

“You’re going to get my stuff wet,” she says, eyes narrowing. 

“Oh. Right.” Without warning, Peter pulls his soaked t-shirt over his head and throws it into their hamper bin. 

Michelle can admit, she’s no stranger to shirtless Peter. They’ve lived together for an upcoming of three years now, and superhero endeavors typically mean she has to apply first aid. 

But now that she knows how her feelings towards him aren’t one-hundred percent platonic, she can’t exactly look him in the face when he’s lacking a crucial piece of clothing anymore.

“It’s getting to the good part,” Michelle says, swallowing.

“I’d think the whole documentary would be the good part,” Peter laughs, sitting close enough to her that she can feel the heat radiating off his body. 

_“It still may be a danger over a kilometer away. In the turmoil, mothers and pups are easily separated. They must find refuge away from the glacier.”_

Peter’s eyes are wide as he leans forward. “Oh, no. I thought this was a happy documentary.” Almost absently, his hand finds hers again in the mountain of blankets she’s wrapped up in.

_“In a cove, they find a solution to the turbulent waters. Kelp offers the moorings they need. It’s just a matter of how best to attach themselves. But even this beginner is having success. As the ice vanishes, more kelp beds will soon appear. The otters can enjoy the summer in peace.”_

“That’s nice,” he mumbles to himself, smiling again as the scene changes to a camera view. “I can see why you like otters.”

Michelle merely nods, distracted by the way his thumb is brushing against the sensitive part of her skin. This is why she watches documentaries alone.

_“When they’re first born, they’re not capable of directional swimming. They’re basically just little corks floating at the surface. They will easily float away in the wild, so mothers keep them on little kelp beds. It’s the same when otters sleep. There’s always a chance of getting separated, so they will hold hands to stay together.”_

She glances over at Peter, whose expression reads pure adoration. He meets her eyes and something shifts in the air.

“They hold hands to keep from floating away,” Peter whispers, gaze falling to their own interlocked fingers. 

Michelle forces herself to nod again. “Otters are smart like that…”

Peter smiles softly. “They’re my new favorite animal.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like the way they think,” he says, lightly tapping the side of her head. His hand doesn’t travel far then, resting at the base of her neck.

Michelle hesitates, knowing that they’re both pretty chicken when it comes to feelings. He isn’t going to make the first move, always putting what she wants first, which is why she takes the initiative—doesn’t think, just leans forward and presses her lips against his. It’s brief, but it makes her heart skip a beat all the same.

Peter’s eyes are wide when she pulls back, a visible blush to his cheeks. He swallows, hand finding her jaw. “What was that for?”

“I really like you,” she says, honest and blunt.

“Yeah?” He’s smiling, eyes flitting across her face. “I really like you, too.”

They go in for another kiss, slow and sensual, and Peter pulls her closer, keeping their hands twined together.

_“Otters are notoriously shy creatures, but their love runs deep. When finding the one they want to stay with, their companionship will last for a lifetime.”_


End file.
